


scyliorhinus retifer, kylo ren, and other sharp-toothed things

by old-kirjavi (Kirjavi)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aquarium AU, Fandom Trumps Hate, M/M, this is a mess but that's how it be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirjavi/pseuds/old-kirjavi
Summary: Armitage Hux just wants to fill out his community service hours and get out of this shitty volunteer gig--until a shaggy-haired imbecile with a fondness for sharks wanders into his life and refuses to leave. An aquarium AU.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	scyliorhinus retifer, kylo ren, and other sharp-toothed things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mech](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mech/gifts).



> For Fandom Trumps Hate 2019! This isn't quite up to its 5k requirement due to multiple reasons, but I'll spare everyone the excuses and simply say that the writing here is a placeholder and when finished, I'll upload the actual 5k oneshot proper. Apologies for the awkward reading! Enjoy some begrudging AU kylux!

Armitage Hux is good at his job .

While it may not be the most glamorous of jobs, he knows without a doubt that if he were to walk out the door right this second, this entire goddamn establishment would come crashing down. He knows every single quirk and oddity of this aquarium and its animals, the way the filter sounds when it’s sucking in an air bubble and how the sharks circle and drift to the bottom after they’ve fed well. Snoke, the First Order Aquarium’s director, is beyond incompetent. Without him, the backbone of the volunteers this perpetually near-defunded establishment runs on, this place would crumble to the ground. It is a precarious balance of arguing for better volunteer shift hours, chopping up chunks of frozen fish, and snapping at kids at the touch tanks, and needs nothing less than his full attention to make it work.

Which is why, Armitage thinks, glaring at the weird emo kid who decided to monopolize the rays and sharks touch tank, he _literally_ doesn’t have time for this.

“I’ve seen you here like six times already,” he says sharply. He’s never been patient with visitors, and it’s a miracle he hasn’t been kicked out already for it. “You want to let someone else have a turn?”

The other guy flips his hair out of his eyes and shrugs. “I like the sharks,” he mumbles.

Armitage huffs, incredulous. Nothing here is making him any more likable. If there is one thing Armitage cannot stand, it is poor enunciation, and that combined with him just _standing_ there and barely even interacting with his flawless touch tank patter is beginning to frustrate him.

“Well, go touch a shark and move on, then” he says impatiently. He can see some kids timidly standing off to the side, leery of rushing the overlong goth in front of him, and doesn’t want them to wait too long.

His eyes widen and he leans forward. “This is a touch tank?” he asks in a whisper.

Armitage isn’t often taken aback, but when he is, it feels like this. “Y-yes?” He hears his own stutter and uptalking lilt at the end of the sentence and hates it with a passion. “Did you think I’ve just been standing at this one tank for an hour because I have nothing better to do?”

If Armitage is taken aback, the other guy is flabbergasted. Despite himself, he can’t help but find it equal parts exasperating and unfortunately endearing. He stands up, accompanied by a symphony of cracking joints (the tiny chair on the aquarist’s side of the tank is by no stretch of the imagination comfortable), and moves to join him on the other side of the tank. “What’s your name?” he asks without preamble.

Brown eyes widen further and he tilts broad shoulders away from Armitage, giving him more space to work. “Ben,” he says, almost mutinously. “Most people call me Kylo, though.”

Armitage quirks an eyebrow. “Ky-lo?” he says incredulously. “Sounds made up.”

The other guy— _Kylo_ —glowers. “It is.”

Not even Armitage can ignore the building tension. He turns to the tank, propping his elbows up on the sides of it. “You like the sharks, correct?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see him nod, clumps of soft-looking black hair bobbing with his movement.

“All right,” he says. “Come stand by me.”

He sidles up next to him, careful to keep a shouldersbreath of space between them. He smells familiar—salty, like the water that the aquarium’s pumps suck and spit through the building. “Put your hand in the water,” he orders. “Don’t splash or anything. Just leave it there, about halfway down the side of the tank.”

He can feel/see Kylo bristle at his tone but he listens to him anyways. His hand almost dwarfs him, next to him in the water—his knuckles are scraped red and raw, and when he turns to stretch out his fingers Armitage can see callouses, faint and pale, where his fingers meet his palm. The saltwater must sting the barely scabbed-over scrapes, but he gives no signs of discomfort.

One of the chain catsharks, dozing at the bottom, no doubt notices the miniscule electrical signals sparking off of their skin and rouses itself from the communal pile of other catsharks. It swims sleepily up from the bottom of the tank and begins circling, its odd little catshark eyes and nose barely poking above the surface of the water.

“The behavior it’s exhibiting right now is known as spyhopping,” Armitage explains as they keep their eyes on the shark. “It’s a sign of curiosity—it wants to know what’s going on above water. Many other species of sharks do this, as well as some whales.”

Kylo nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the shark. “Would it bite?” he asks.

“They have teeth, but very small ones.” The chain catshark nearly bumps into the filter, but corrects itself a moment before the impact and ducks under the pipe. “They have flat plates of bone, slightly spiked, that they use to crunch through their prey’s shells and bones.”

“Ah.” Kylo smiles—no, not quite a smile—he bares his teeth, and Armitage hides a smile. He’s imagined what it might be like to be a shark too, many times, when the aquarium hits a slow period and there was no way to distract himself other than watching the sharks circle. What it must feel like to drop your teeth and regrow them, over and over again.

“It’s coming around,” he says. The tiny shark nose cuts through the water like a knife through butter. Next to him, Kylo sucks in a breath and keeps his hand very still.

The catshark slows as it approaches the foreign body in the tank. It noses at the water just around his hand, smelling the trace amounts of his blood that leached into the water. Casually, unintentionally, it bumps itself against his fingers, dangling in the tank.

Armitage finds himself watching Kylo’s face instead of the animal in the tank—against code, but he’s such a model employee he’ll cut himself some slack this one time. He watches the animal intently, focusing all of his attention on the shark as it circles back for another pass. He can’t stop himself from wondering, just for a split second, what it might be like to have that attention on him instead.

“What do you think it feel like?” he asks. His brain defaults to mindless aquarium patter in the presence of thoughts he’d never say out loud.

“How does what feel?” Kylo’s eyes are close on the creature in the tank, and that intensity doesn’t fade as he meets his eyes again.

Armitage swallows. “The shark.”

“Right.” Subconsciously, his fingers rub together, no doubt chilled from the water. “Rough,” he says quietly. “Like fine-grit sandpaper.”

Armitage nods. “Their skin is covered in denticles—you can think of them as tiny teeth. They cut through the water like knives.”

“Wow.” Kylo stares at the water in silence. He looks about a mile away, lost in thought.

It’s endearing, in its own dumb way. Armitage doesn’t like it.

A line has begun to form behind Kylo, and at the sight of an entire line of snotty-nosed kindergarteners behind him Armitage can feel his desire to be here leach away (about twice a day, he wonders if a tick mark in front of his honors college “community service” slot is worth this). It had been peaceful, in an odd sort of way, standing with this quiet stranger in front of the shark tank.

“Do you think you could give a few other people a turn?” Armitage asks reluctantly. “I’m afraid a bit of a line has built up.”

Kylo starts and looks behind him like an idiot, no doubt only just remembering that he is in a public space. “Can I—” he starts, then a ridiculous-looking flush begins to color his face and endearingly overlarge ears. “Can I come back?”

Armitage raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s an aquarium,” he says. “Come back anytime you can pay the admission fee.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Questions? Leave them below or hit me up at a-flickering-soul.tumblr.com!!


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